


The Graft of the Magi.

by RT Fice (RT_Fice)



Category: Dumbo 2019, Dumbo Live Action
Genre: Bribery, Christmas, F/M, Little Brothers, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RT_Fice/pseuds/RT%20Fice
Summary: It's 1920, and the first Christmas season since V.A. Vandevere and Milly have become secret lovers.  The busy holiday at Dreamland is preventing them from finding time alone.  Just as they grab a moment Milly's younger brother, Joe, learns their secret.  And he's not as stupid as Vandevere had always thought.This is a stand-alone that takes place after what I have, so far, of "Baby, Mine."
Relationships: Milly Farrier/V. A. Vandevere
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	The Graft of the Magi.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmberTiger98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberTiger98/gifts).



**Dreamland, December 1920**.

V.A. Vandevere signed the last of today’s business papers. He refused to immediately acknowledge the boy, who stood to the side of his office, whose insipid and falsely innocent smile was aimed at Sotheby.

The butler and personal assistant raised one annoyed and puzzled gray eyebrow in query to this unusual witness. His employer wasn’t forthcoming.  
  
Vandevere didn’t get caught. _Ever._ But he had. He blamed passion and heady love for fogging his common sense.

He and Milly had been secretly trysting for a month. His hunger for her hadn’t lessened. His lust, and his love, had multiplied. He flattered himself that, judging by how often and eagerly Milly sought him out, using her quick, sharp mind to plan how and where they could sneak away, he pleased her as much as he’d prayed he would.

But for weeks V.A. had to concentrate his time on preparing Dreamland for the holidays. Cold weather and snow had closed the outside rides, but the Colosseum’s holiday extravaganza was the most sought after venue in New York. And there was the ice rink to pass its annual inspection, and the decorations and lights to install and test throughout the park, and Santa’s huge sleigh, and the charity event for handing out gifts to the Widows and Orphans and Veteran’s (Milly’s suggestion, and a good one) Fund.

Milly had been busy with Medici’s troupe, coming up with a holiday-themed show with Dumbo.

They’d rarely so much as glanced at each other in passing. V.A. was going insane. His bed was cold and lonely. He woke with raging hardons after fevered dreams of her. She’d slipped him a hastily scrawled note via Sotheby. _I miss you so much. I need you in me baby. HOW?_

How indeed? Holt, having the instincts of a overly-protective father, had shot him accusing but uncertain looks. Colette, surprising sympathetic and helpful – for Milly’s sake, not for his, he was sure – deflected Holt’s suspicion. The only safe place for them to meet was the Power Tower, but this time of year, with the electrical overload of holiday lights, the Tower was manned all day and night.  
  
Last Saturday, while hosting Vice President Calvin Coolidge and his wife at a matinee, V.A. had slipped downstairs to snap at the spotlight runner that he was two seconds short with his follow. In the momentarily empty back hallway there Milly was, luminous green eyes wide and lips parted.

In sheer insanity they’d grabbed each other and dashed into the janitor’s closet. He’d covered her face and neck with panting kisses as she clutched him close.

“Baby,” she whimpered. "I’m dying without you!“

"Darling,” he groaned, between nipping and mouthing her neck and down into her cleavage, “my beautiful darling, I can’t take it.” He clasped her face and stroked it. "It’s the damn holidays. I can’t get a moment away. Baby, _I’m frantic._ “

They locked together, pressing against the cold cement wall, Milly grabbing his hands and guiding them to the buttons down the back her pantsuit. Understanding, his fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons as Milly’s fingers tried to pry his fly buttons apart.

There was a metallic creak. Light hit them. They froze, squinting, blinded. When their eyes adjusted, they saw Joe’s confused face.

"Did Dad send you for a mop, too, Milly?” he asked.

Milly held her breath, trying to calm her gasping. "No, I…. I needed a towel.“

Joe looked at V.A.’s red face, and thankfully not below his waist. "Do you need a towel, too?”

“I saw him and asked him to unlock the closet,” Milly blurted. She carefully maneuvered in front of her lover, in part to shield his erection and for him to swiftly, deftly rebutton her jumpsuit.

“Well, no wonder. Dad gave _me_ the key.” Joe held it aloft.

“I’d best get back.” Vandevere started to hurry past the boy, stopped, grabbed a towel off the shelf, and handed it to Milly. "Here you are, Miss Farrier.“

"Thank you.” Milly held the towel to her, concealing her hardened nipples. “Good day.” As the girl passed her brother she called, “Come on, Joe.”

“I need the mop.” Joe paused, looking at the impresario as his sister hurried down the corridor.

The boy’s expression was disquieting. Vandevere smiled awkwardly. "Take the mop and run along, now.“

"I don’t think Dad would like you kissing my sister.”

Vandevere froze.

Joe’s tone wasn’t sinister or threatening. It was matter-of-fact. " _I_ don’t like it, either. You’re _old_. You have wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. Why would she want to kiss you?“

Having as little contact with children as he could, the tycoon had no idea how their minds worked. He widened his smile and said in his "Who’s been dreaming?” tone, “We were just being friendly. The way an older man kisses a young woman good luck.”

“Max kisses Milly,” stated Joe, “but it’s on the cheek, and not with his tongue.” The boy grimaced.

Since friendliness didn’t work, Vandevere switched to his business tone. "It was a hug, nothing more. Get along, boy.“ He shoved past him.

"I could tell Dad.”

Vandevere slammed on his brakes so hard he almost dropped his walking stick. With dread he turned and looked at the boy.

Joe’s eyebrows knotted. "I really don’t like you kissing my sister. Dad would like it even _less_. You know how good Dad is with his pistols, don’t you?“

"I tell you, boy, it was nothing more than–”

“I _know_ what men and girls _do_. I’m a circus child. I’ve seen people doing things when they didn’t know I was there.”  
  
Vandevere waited.

“For twenty dollars I won’t tell Dad.” Joe beamed as if he were doing the tycoon a favor.

_You avaricious little bastard,_ thought V.A., his nostrils flaring. "Only twenty?“ he asked with a sneer.

"Well gosh, that’s more money than I’ve ever personally had in my entire life.” The boy laughed, astonished at the idea that he’d want more.

After he was sure the corridor was clear of witnesses, V.A. Vandevere did what he had never done, with the sole exception of Milly, and only then because he insisted she have pocket money: He reached into his jacket’s interior breast pocket and took out his wallet.

Milly had refused the money he offered her. Joe, however, immediately took the two crisp gold bond ten dollar bills from the man and gaped at the portrait of Michael Hillegas.  
  
“And I have your word you’ll keep this to yourself?” snapped Vandevere.

Joe nodded eagerly.  
  
With disgust Vandevere shook the boy’s proffered hand. It felt sticky.  
  
“Boy, where in blazes you been? Oh.” Holt stopped. He nodded deferentially to his employer. "Sorry, Mr. Vandevere, if Joe’s held you up.“

"Not at all, Farrier. He’s been…” Vandevere removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his hands. "…entertaining.“  
  
Two more times Joe had mentioned that, for a fee of two ten dollar bills, his lips would remain sealed. But Christmas was approaching, and Vandevere sensed he was being the benefactor of Joe’s present-buying.

He didn’t tell Milly, for fear her shock and anger at her little brother might attract her father’s attention.  
  
That the child kept his word didn’t surprise VA as much as his bribery had. The junior Farrier had his own sense of honor, but it was that of a twelve-year-old for whom cash money was a new and fantastical treat.

_But today_ , thought the tycoon as he capped his pen, slipped it into its stand on his desktop, and as Sotheby blotted his signatures and left with the business papers, _today the game ends_.

"Joe.” Vandevere clasped his hands on his blotter and smiled coolly. "My, my. Another visit so soon? How can I be of assistance.“

Ironically, the boy ducked his head shamefacedly. "Colette. I haven’t gotten her a present yet.”

“Ah.”

“She deserves something _nice_.”

“ _Naturellement_. How generous, that you’re using your gains to bring others happiness. But Joe,” V.A. brought his voice to a whisper, “don’t you think your father will wonder from whence the money came?”

“I’m going to tell him you’re paying me for errands,” Joe declared proudly. "You just have to back me up if he asks you.“  
  
The man raised an eyebrow, impressed with the child’s natural talent for scheming. "Have you _no_ money left?”

Joe shrugged. "Not enough.“

"Well.” Vandevere got up, walked to the front of his desk, and sat on its edge, his hands clasped on his walking stick. "I’ll _give_ you a very nice present for Miss Marchant. But the money stops.“

Crinkling his nose, Joe said, “I’d rather it didn’t.”

“OH, but I’m afraid it _does_. Unless you want me to tell your father how you’ve been stealing from the cafeteria’s tip jar.”

Joe’s eyes expanded as if he’d been stabbed with a poker. "I don’t! I never!“

"Says who?”

“Me! I’d never steal!”

“Hmmm. Isn’t blackmail stealing?”

“Blackmail?”

“Forcing others to give you money or else you’ll tell on them.”

“It’s not the same!” Joe’s face flushed with indignation. "We’re exchanging things!“

"But one of us isn’t a willing party.”

“It’s not stealing! I don’t do that! You can’t say I do!”

“Of course I can. I can say anything. I can say that you wet your bed.”

“I don’t!” Joe cried. "You can’t say that! That’s a bald-faced lie!“

"Prove it,” said Vandevere, silkily. "If I recall correctly, your father insists you not have a maid. So you strip your linens and put them down the laundry chute yourself. No one sees them but you. Your father and sister wouldn’t know if you do or don’t wet your bed.“

"The laundry people would!”

“Do you think for a moment that they'd contradict _me?_ "

As V.A. suspected, the accusation of bed-wetting held more horror for the boy than of theft. Panic made Joe all but hyperventilate.

“You can’t say that!”

“I can, and will. Unless we do another exchange.”

Joe swallowed hard.

“I won’t say you stole the money you used to buy gifts, or that you bed-wet, as long as you cease demanding money from me and never, _ever_ , tell about what you saw.”

“This isn’t fair! What I saw was the truth! What you’d say isn’t! I could still tell Dad what I saw!”

“And I could say you made that up to try to force me to cover up your stealing.”

Joe’s jaw worked. "This isn’t fair.“

Vandevere shrugged. "Welcome to business negotiations.” He examined his nails. “You have three seconds to accept this contract, or I _leak_ that you do what babies do.”

“I do not!” Joe huffed, his eyes dampening. "Fine! You don’t have to give me any more money.“

"And you’ll keep your mouth shut?”

The boy grimaced. " _Yeeeess_.“  
  
"Good.” The man held out his hand.

Resentful, the boy took it. The man’s hand crushed around his. Joe yelped. Vandevere leaned down while he pulled Joe to him until they were face to face.

“No one threatens _me_ ,” he hissed. "If you _ever_ endanger my happiness again, _you will regret it._ Tell me you believe that.“

Joe, his eyes huge with fear, nodded vigorously.

Vandevere released him with a poisonous smile and straightened. He smoothed his cravat. "If your father asks, and he will, we’ll mutually agree that you offered to do errands for me in exchange for money to buy presents. He won’t like that, but he’ll ignore his hatred of me because you wished to do good. Sotheby will bring you something pretty and affordable for Miss Marchant.” His face hardened. "Now get the hell out of my office.“

Joe, eyes wet, ran.

Sotheby, who’d been listening, as planned, in the short corridor to his office, stepped into the room, watching the numbers glow as the elevator slipped downward. With his hands clasped behind his back he said, drily, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Vandevere.”

Vandevere snickered. "And good will toward men.“

"And boys,” Sotheby suggested.

“By the grace of their sisters.” Vandevere snorted. "All right, let’s deal with those damn widows and orphans.“

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> I fudged the facts a bit. The Michael Hillegas ten dollar gold bond bill didn't appear until 1922.
> 
> I posted this on my Villy tumblr, along with two gifs i made for it: https://vandeverefan.tumblr.com/post/189709073748/the-graft-of-the-magi-a-villy-mini-fic


End file.
